


yours is the hand i've been dreaming of holding

by kingslayer (amurgin)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time Together, M/M, Oral Sex, electrical kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21884299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurgin/pseuds/kingslayer
Summary: Drip, drip, drop,his chest flutters back alive with the force of a kaleidoscope of butterflies striking their wings against his skin, making it tingle.Meanwhile, Dimitri's hands cascade over him, breaking onto the surface of his body in a wave of touches that sweeps over him and tugs his head below the surface to where a pair of lips can remind him how to breathe. Fingertips press into the dips between flesh and bone, pushing Felix down into the mattress, while fingernails scrape the skin red, digging crescents into it, and his hips rise into Dimitri’s grasp, betraying Felix’s every thought, his every little need to feel Dimitri swallow him whole.Long years after the war, Dimitri finds Felix alone, and, together, they find each other again.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57
Collections: 2019 Dimilix Holiday Exchange





	yours is the hand i've been dreaming of holding

Somehow, _somewhere_ , he finds it within himself to feel impressed. 

That the aristocrats have found a way to institutionalize torture seems a feat worthy of his praise. That he has gotten himself caught up in the thick of it has earned them his ire. 

This is the last place on earth Felix wants to be, and _he's_ fought in the war, unlike so many of them. It is because of this war, because of _his_ sword among many others, that all these asinine nobles can afford to throw such lavish parties, tipping their hats over with gold, glasses clinking together, pouring exquisite liquors carelessly onto the ground. All it is is just one big shitshow, a dick-measuring contest of opulence and snobbery that drives the blood to his head in a mad dash for sanity. 

He quickly understands there is none to be found here.

Because if there is one thing Felix hates more than one person (a term to be taken on a general level; no pointing fingers or snitching on the many names he could pick) it's an entire ballroom filled with them. 

But this is Dimitri’s party, and in spite of all his protests, Felix would have come anyway because he hasn't missed a single other event, big or small, in Dimitri's life and he isn't about to start now. Still, he makes an excuse out of the fact that social functions are, unfortunately, already part of his job description. 

_"If you want to keep swinging your sword, you will have to put up with this much."_ Ingrid won't relent, not even in his memories.

 _"You heard her, Felix. Guess swinging your sword around comes with a price. A pity, really, I'd let you swing your sword at me any da—"_ At least, she’s better than Sylvain. 

So, really, it’s their fault Felix finds himself here, nursing a glass of champagne he holds no interest in emptying, yet knows will happen regardless of his wishes. He cups the bottom of it with utmost care, like Felix is holding on to a last and only refuge, and he draws the length of the stem with the tip of his finger, where it parts his hand at the webbing. A mindless habit that keeps his hands busy even in the absence of a sword, a less-than-favourable-yet-unavoidable development since Dimitri has deemed all weapons as _inappropriate attire_. 

_“All those who attend should feel safe, at ease.”_ He had explained, though everyone had already understood, taking it as a universally acknowledge truth they had all been previously made privy to. Everyone except Felix. _“It would do no good to bring a reminder of the war to such a joyous occasion.”_

At that, he had smiled, a small and pitiful little thing that did not reach his eye, the sight of which had remained steadily trained on the figure of Felix, cross-armed and lurking somewhere at the far end of the chamber. The message had been intended for him, that was no mystery, and yet, Felix could not find it within himself to match his gaze, choosing instead to cast his eyes away, to the ground. 

_A reminder of the war,_ Dimitri had carefully phrased himself, but to Felix, the sword had never been something so small and petty. For him, it was a way of life, a sense of direction when the tip of his blade pointed in only one direction, _forward_ , the same way Felix had had to keep on walking despite the obstacles and the stipulations, despite everything he had been required to give up if only to take one more step forward. 

For Felix, his sword had been a reminder of life. Without it, he would have been left spinning out of orbit like the needle of a broken compass, spinning without an end of sight, in very much the same way he found himself feeling at the moment. Because, even here, where the world feels unbearably small, crammed inside the tight confines of an event hall, even here, where all of Fódlan, friends and foreigners alike, had gathered for a single night, Felix is still spinning out of control, directionless. Purposeless.

Though inside he feels unwelcome, outside Felix is just short of being free. Even from the balcony, there is still so much to see, the gardens overlaid before him, the bright, dark sky, stars and moon and the whole entire world waiting for someone, someone like Felix, to seize them. But it's a calm night tonight, and everyone is inside. That Felix is the only one to enjoy the sight of it, one that so many others would treasure in ways he cannot grasp, is only another cruel irony for him to deal with. 

A sigh parts his lips in preparation for the entrance of the golden liquid, and he takes a small sip, barely letting it hit the palate of his tongue before swallowing it. The night has barely just begun and he is about halfway through the glass, about halfway through contemplating flagging down one of the many attendants in preparation of the inevitable requirement of a second drink, preferably something stronger and more committed to the cause. Felix has quickly come to see the consumption of alcohol as just another responsibility accompanying his position, something he could say no to, if he wanted, but now he catches himself thinking that getting a little dizzy might not be the worst idea. That, and nobody could blame him. 

For what? Getting carried away by the festivities? Indulging himself in the merriment like the good noble he ought to be? It’s a fullproof plan. 

He is about three quarters down by the time his old professor joins his side, holding an identical glass as the one Felix has been giving his attention to. From the corner of his eye, he can tell it is about as empty as his.

Byleth takes the spot on his right side, silently, unintentionally stealthily had it been anybody other than Felix, anybody with a few already-empty glasses to their name. They settle against the wall, eyes never so much as straying his way. Quiet as they are, as they’ve always been, they fit perfectly next to Felix, so much so that he cannot bring himself to mind their sudden intrusion. 

_“All these years and you haven’t changed one bit.”_ He huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head before pressing his lips to the golden rim of the glass, allowing them to linger there for the breadth of an instant. 

_“I could say the same about you, Felix.”_ Neither of them turns to face the other, but Felix can hear their smile nonetheless. The edge of it lines each word perfectly as it leaves their lips. Then, a pause, a thought, a whisper. _“Have you gone to see Dimitri yet?”_

This, too, has not changed. 

Here he is, Byleth meddling in his affairs in the least meddlesome way, leaving him without an excuse to deny them, to raise hell at the drop of a pin. Just like old times, Felix finds the nostalgia comforting, in its own way, and even that little is enough to smooth him over. At the behest of his old instructor, Felix opens up like it is a most natural thing to lay yourself bare and wait to be picked apart, one old wound at a time. 

Winters have bloomed into spring, summer melting into copper with the coming of fall, and years have come and gone, taking with them the promise of a new opportunity to see each other. Felix yields himself over. They are busy men. The responsibility of their respective positions does not afford them the luxury of casually indulging in the company of others, of friends and—friends and lovers.

His mind gravitates naturally, which is, in itself, quite unnaturally, towards thoughts of intimacy. Dimitri has always been kept under the tight pressure of marriage, since his childhood, but now, Felix could not even imagine how much harsher those plights had grown. 

_“No.”_ The sigh that follows is just one of the many betrayals his heart lays against him, leaving him entirely too vulnerable for his liking. 

A few days have passed since his arrival, but given the sheer size of such an event, a five year celebration since the end of the war, Felix hadn't had a single chance to catch Dimitri on his own, unattended by some bigmouthed royal or another. So, it wasn't like he hadn't tried or wanted to. Their schedules simply haven't lined up with each other. Felix can't be blamed for that. 

_“I see.”_ But their silence translates into the disappointment Felix knows them incapable of ever expressing. Byleth has always been, first and foremost, neutral. 

Still, Felix cannot help the surge of anxiety within him, that primal instinct of fear he might have felt, so many years ago, upon disappointing his mother or father. Cautiously, he turns to look, half-expecting to find Byleth frowning or sighing or something, _anything_ , but some things cannot resist change when faced with the inevitable passage of time. What Felix finds is the sparkle of a diamond in the rough, the curl of their lips and the flash of white, a smile that is all-teeth and all-knowing, boring into his soul as if the rest of him is simply not there. 

Stunned, Felix drops his guard, and it shatters upon the marble tiling in shards so small he instantly knows will take him a lifetime to piece back together, and even then, _even then_ , the fractures will remain, like a glaring eyesore. Unavoidable and too real. 

_“Wh-What?”_

_“Nothing.”_ The hand they bring to their mouth does little to stifle their laughter, leaving Felix to watch the quiver of their shoulders with a raised eyebrow. Eventually, the tide subsides, and Byleth raises themselves straight once more. They brush away all traces of a lone tear with the edge of their index finger, speaking only after a moment of silence. _“Are you going to give him the satisfaction of being the first one to make a move then, after all these years?”_

It hardly feels like they’re speaking to him, what with their eyes gazing over the crowd, looking on in the distance. Their smile, tamer now, returns to their lips in full bloom, but this time, Felix can tell it is not meant for his eyes. Out there, in the wilderness of nobility, there is someone other than him deserving of such a smile, and if Byleth’s previous words are not enough to get a rise out of him, this simple fact is. 

Felix follows their sight through the mass of bodies, skimming the tops of heads, squeezing through the tight spaces between elbows, getting stuck on those few hands joined together in a union of interlocking fingers. There, he loses sight of himself in the giggle of maidens, in the sharp laughter of young men, couples gliding together on the dancefloor. There is a plainly fashioned domesticity to the image unfolding before him, a moving tableau of everything Felix does not seek for himself. 

What he wants still holds an edge of danger, a lingering aftertaste of adrenaline at the back of his mouth. His heart plunges deep into his ribs at the thought of it, that which is forbidden to him, that which he desires more than anything else in this world.

_What Felix wants—More than anything, what Felix wants is—_

Finally, he comes to rest on the figure of the culprit, dashing and fairskinned as he is. His is the head that rises tallest above everyone else, distinguished by that striking halo that catches the champagne light of the chandeliers. 

_Uh-oh._

Dimitri has already spotted him, picking him apart from the crowd as if it’s no effort for him at all, as if Dimitri has never lost sight of him, not once. The slow rise of his lips, like the sky lifting to touch the sunkissed tresses of his own hair, is nothing short of breathtaking. Felix’s chest tightens, lungs stuttering, sputtering, faltering with the failure to secure oxygen. The tiniest of gasps passes his lips, and he turns away, cussing himself out for his weakness.

Suffice to say, the gesture is not nearly enough to deter Dimitri. 

He begins making his way over, wading through all the ambassadors and aristocrats that think themselves important enough to gain the attention of the King. Though Felix cannot see it, he can imagine their grubby, greedy hands reaching for just one grasp at the sleeve of Dimitri’s jacket, taking just one chance at touching their Messiah, their martyr come-back-to-life in all the scarred glory of his flesh and skin. Dimitri means everything to them, and to Felix—to Felix, everloyal, everloving, he means—

Besides him, Byleth empties their glass.

 _“I guess he won’t be giving you much of a choice, after all.”_ Their hand is firm on his shoulder, there one second, gone the next, and then all Felix can hear is their footsteps receding. _“Dimitri.”_

 _“Professor!”_ A stutter. The sound of nervous laughter and an excuse. _“My apologies, Archbishop. I find myself unable to break out of such old habits.”_

 _“How so very like you, Dimitri, to have an apology be the first words you speak to me tonight.”_ Byleth is quick to disarm Dimitri, taking him down in one, perfectly-delivered strike. How frightening. 

The flush of his face is all-too-apparent the next time he speaks. 

_“I apolo—Touché, Professor.”_ Even without seeing it for himself, Dimitri’s laughter is a sound Felix cherishes, above all, for the rarity it acquired during the dark ages of their life together. _“Would it be possible for us to catch up at a later time?”_

 _“Of course.”_ And when Byleth resumes, Felix can hear their voice address _him_ directly. _“Enjoy yourselves.”_

In the time it takes Dimitri to curb his laughter, Byleth is out of sight and Felix is entirely too self-aware, unable to shake off the weight of Dimitri approaching him. Even now, he is but a shadow, lightstepped and surprising, threatening to catch up as soon as he relents, if only for a drop of water or a single breath. 

Felix finds neither and Dimitri is already there. 

_“I see you have stayed true to your younger self, Felix.”_ He can hear the smile in Dimitri’s voice before catching sight of it, but when he does, Felix can feel himself get robbed of the last remnants of air inside his lungs. Dimitri joins him at his side, leaning over the balcony with the uppermost half of his body. His hands are firm against the railing, and his eyes chase after the full moon one star at a time. A few moments later, he turns to Felix, letting that impossibly warm smile wash over him. _“Even as a child, you had always shied away from the company of others.”_

 _“Not always.”_ There is something dangerous in Dimitri’s eye, but Felix isn’t looking for a fight tonight. Instead, he steals his gaze back from Dimitri’s grasp, returns it to the sky above with a renewed fervour. _“I enjoyed spending time with you. My world was split evenly between the three of you.”_

_“And Glenn.”_

His reply is spoken breathlessly, in an instant that begs the question of how seamlessly their statements fit together, how mistaken Felix is to have left Glenn out of the equation.

 _“Yeah. And Glenn.”_ He surrenders, voice quiet and so small it gets lost beneath the vast expanse of the sky unfolding above them. 

It’s been years, now, since they first started jumping hurdles around each other, incapable or, better said, unwilling to reconcile. Most of the blame falls on Felix, and while he finds no use in dawdling over what he _might_ have done differently, were it possible to take another shot at it, he might have aimed his weapon at someone else. But as things stand, at the moment, he's held the blade of his sword at Dimitri’s throat for so long that Felix struggles now, once he’s been forced to lay down all his weapons. Whatever it is that should come after, he does not know. 

_“If you’re done walking the both of us down memory lane, you should probably head back. I can already hear the noblemen and their daughters lamenting your absence.”_ There is no bark, no bite, no venom to his voice. His tongue does not sting against Dimitri’s skin like the edge of the blade, nor does it throb as it would after getting struck by the hilt of his sword. By the time it’s already late, it occurs to Felix that, maybe, this is progress. There is still hope for the two of them. 

And, for what it’s worth, following that small faux-pas, Dimitri leaves Glenn where he belongs. Buried. 

He does, however, press his luck with more small talk.

 _“They will have to wait, then. I wish to spend some time alongside my old friends."_ Friends. The word pricks Felix's skin, making it throb with both new and old wounds. _Is that all I am to you? Is that all I will ever be to you._ His glass is empty and that, too, is an inconvenience. Dimitri doesn't notice, however. _"It is a most stunning night, would you not agree?”_

 _“Dimitri—”_ Felix starts, but he is cut short, coming up completely empty when he turns to find Dimitri peering down at him, stars reflecting off his irises. His smile reaches all the way past his eyes, to the far edges of his face where the blush of a rose blooms steadily. Even his ears colour red, and, at that, Felix yields once more, powerless before Dimitri. _“It doesn’t look any different to me.”_

Perhaps he is a fool for missing out on whatever it is romantics, people like Dimitri, somehow still starry-eyed, see differently from him. To Felix, any night is just another night. 

_“I suppose you are right.”_ It is Dimitri’s turn to concede, but when Felix does not feel the satisfaction of his first win of the day, he is left empty instead. Barren, outside of the sad tug of Dimitri’s lips, the slumping of his shoulders, the loss of that earlier spark. In a flash, he looks no different than he did that first day, back at the Goddess Tower, sullen and forlorn, and Felix shudders, parses himself by looking away to anywhere Dimitri isn’t. But he is wrong. Felix is wrong and though Dimitri is still fighting his demons, he is alive and kicking and making the effort nobody else made for him. _“After the war, every passing night continues to leave me breathless.”_

As quickly as he had looked away, Felix whips his head around, puts his hand on Dimitri’s and squeezes it with the reassurance he once wished Dimitri could have given him, all those years ago, after Glenn, after Rodrigue, after Felix had thought him lost to the world. Their faces are an inhale apart and as close as the distance traveled by an exhale. 

_“Shut up. Don’t say anything else. If only for a second, keep that mouth of yours shut.”_ But it doesn’t sound one bit like a threat, not with how high Dimitri towers over Felix, even like this, leaning so far down Felix cannot pry his eyes away from Dimitri’s lips. As far as he can tell, Dimitri takes no more and no less than a second before speaking again, champagne breath warm and intoxicating against Felix’s skin.

 _“I feel myself a lucky man tonight.”_ A sigh of relief leaves his lips, a sound that dispels the tension from his muscles, and Dimitri finally relaxes into his own body. No longer the prison of old, but the promise of life anew. His eyes settle in a soundless lull upon Felix’s own, unwavering as he holds his gaze captive, relinquishing not even a sliver of hope for Felix to latch onto. _“It would seem that the Goddess has granted me my wish before we could herald in the New Year.”_

His honesty is searing to the touch. To accept it is nothing short of unthinkable.

Except Felix is given no choice, not when Dimitri descends upon him in a kiss that sears his lips and singes his heart. It leaves a clean cut that splits him in two; the quick and sudden irritation with Dimitri’s recklessness and the everlasting feeling of weightlessness, body floating up onto the tips of his toes until he is pushing against Dimitri’s lips with his own. A lifetime of love in all its stages, from inception to heartbreak to loss and grief, culminates at the tip of Felix’s tongue when Dimitri dares take his impudence a step further by giving the inside of his mouth a lick. 

_“Felix?”_

His hands are firmly wrapped around Dimitri’s shoulders, pushing him off and away, but his arms are caught in a tremor that flusters Felix even more than the kiss. 

As foretold by Dimitri only moments ago, Felix casts his gaze away, unable to face him headfirst. Not with the flush that captures his features from the obscured tips of his shoulders, to the fringe of his neck peeking over the high collar, and all the way to the apples of his cheeks. He burns scarlet from one extremity to another, and though Felix cannot deny Dimitri as he pores over him, seeking out those hidden parts of him, the least he can do is try to save himself some embarrassment. 

_“If I have overstayed my welcome, if you are in any way displeased with my actions, you need only tell me. But Felix, if even the thought of us has crossed your mind, then it is my right to know so.”_

His eye lingers on Felix, searching his features for an understanding, willing him to accept his conditions. Dimitri isn't wrong. He deserves to know just as much as Felix deserves the right to speak it openly, to lend his voice to desires he's kept under the tight watch of a glass and some champagne. It would be unfair to reject him.

 _“You’re the worst.”_ Dimitri is too much, too soon, too suddenly. Felix is throbbing and yearning to touch and feel him, to kiss and hold him. His skin tingles all over and his lips run red with want. He is digging his fingers into Dimitri’s muscles, barely holding himself off from tearing him apart, right then, right there, right now. 

Byleth was right. Felix let Dimitri get the jump on him. Now he is winning and losing all at once. It is painful and electric, electric and lovely, lovely and forbidden in that way that makes Felix’s blood boil. More, more, _more._

They are older now, wiser now, and altogether more foolish now than they have ever been before. But maybe this is just the time to act foolish and rash, to fall in love recklessly with Dimitri's moonkissed face. To kiss him silent on the balcony just outside the hall. 

Felix does just that.

He can taste the lingering of champagne on his breath, the sweetness of his manners on his lips, and not even Felix can resist the temptation of seizing his face with both his hands, hope in his right, truth in his left. Dimitri presses back into him, pushing against him with that unfairly large body of his. His arm winds around Felix’s waist and Dimitri dips him forward, drawing his back into a taut bow until all he can do is give in.

 _“I fear you may be right.”_ Dimitri’s laughter chimes clear like the clink of crystal on crystal, glasses wishing good fortune and ringing in the new year with plenty of cheer. Church bells sing when the sound seeps in through Felix’s skin, echoing inside his heart, and their faces are inseparable when Felix makes music out of the union of their mouths. A small moan escapes his throat and it almost goes unnoticed, except Dimitri’s toothy grin against his lips is a surefire reminder. Even as Felix pulls away, their faces seek one another out, and he cannot deny Dimitri the heat of his skin as he ghosts his breath over the sharp edges of Felix’s jaw. _"It is good to have you here, Felix. Truly."_

Ever-so-gently, Dimitri leans back. Straightening up, he leaves behind an emptiness that feels wrong in too many ways to count, and Felix has to bite his tongue back, to dig his nails into the bed of his palms, if only to hold himself from reaching out to him. 

_"Going forward, I can only hope that the festivities will gain your favour, Duke Fraldarius."_ Pointless pleasantries have always been Dimitri's weapon of choice, and they never fail to rile Felix up, giving rise to a surge of incense that tightens his throat and pulls his fingers into fists. _Of course_ , he knows how much Felix despises parties. _Of course_ , Dimitri knows he is so very vulnerable to his own implacability, unable to resist the beckon of blowing his top off a little too early. Felix cannot help but fall prey to Dimitri's provocations. And still, he finds himself wanting to enjoy himself, but only so long as it is in the company of his King, his friend, his beloved.

Though Dimitri is the one to pour the wax, what really stamps his seal on Felix is the kiss he presses to the lip of his knuckles. Gentle, fleeting, a dream he will have forgotten come the sun tomorrow, when Felix will have woken up anew. With a bow, he steals Felix’s hand into his own, letting it get lost there before finding it in a kiss, and before Felix can find it within himself to reply, all that remains is the flush of his face, the scent of Dimitri’s skin, sandalwood oil and musk.

He is gone. 

Pressing the pad of his finger to his lips, Felix draws out the memory of their kiss, the shape of Dimitri’s mouth on his, the seamless way in which their bodies fit snugly against each other, with Felix being small enough to occupy the space inside Dimitri’s embrace. 

His head follows helplessly, turning to chase the all-too-familiar sight of Dimitri’s back retreating, shrinking in spite of his body’s insolence, the absurd size of it always betraying him. His head sags a little lower as he skirts the hemlines of ball gowns, pirouetting around the petticoats of noble daughters with an ease that is nothing short of impressive. Felix has become rather intimate with the sight of it all, but tonight, it takes on a new meaning he struggles to read.

He wants to follow, to chase him down and coax more love out of him, except Felix struggles to allow himself the right to do so, and he needs Dimitri’s permission, for him to push him past the point of no return. 

Thank the Goddess that, tonight, they have both struck luck. 

Dimitri shares his fortune with Felix. At the far side of the hall, he turns, and there is no mistake when his eyes find Felix’s all the way across the floor, beyond the open double-doors leading to the balcony. It is, undoubtedly, a moment of pure luck that there is an empty line of sight, devoid of any trespassers. Their gazes slide into place over each other, and Dimitri holds him steady, holds Felix off before granting him the permission he seeks in the form of a soft-boned smile, dangerous in its sincerity.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the shoulder of a young man intrudes upon their moment and Dimitri is gone again. Without a trace, it is as if he was never there. That is the last thing Felix can allow to pass.

Another instant and he is crossing the ballroom, light on his feet as he follows in Dimitri’s footsteps, avoiding those who would otherwise keep their distance, if only the alcohol had not dulled their judgement. From the corner of his vision, he spies Byleth, a half-filled glass in their hand, a small grin on their lips as they watch him take the corner.

Down the hallways, Felix hastens his pace. 

His one step and a half just barely amounts to Dimitri’s monstrous gait, so he crams not two, but three steps into his regular stride until he is just a little off from running. Soon enough, however, he spies the swipe of Dimitri’s cape as he ducks past another corner, and Felix’s heart swells against his will.

At that, he begins running, the end of the hallways drawing closer to him. As he turns the corner, Felix places a hand on the wall, maneuvering himself into a smooth transition from one corridor into the next, and Dimitri is finally back within his sight, growing larger by the passing second. He hears Felix’s footsteps behind him, and though he does not relent, his head turns, eye peeking over his shoulder. Irritated, Felix starts running, _really_ running this time, until his hand gets caught inside Dimitri’s sleeve and he tugs him backward.

 _“Slow down, already.”_ Felix’s lips find their place back against Dimitri’s, and with a sigh of relief, they relax into each other’s hold, kissing deeply, needily. There is a gasp that interrupts them, when Dimitri curls his arm around Felix’s thinly sculpted waist and pulls him up into his embrace with an alarming dexterity. 

_“It would have hardly been fair of me to let you win so easily.”_ Dimitri admits sheepishly, already carrying the two of them off to what Felix can only think, _hope_ is his private chamber. 

_“I’ve waited long enough for you.”_ He doesn’t mean to sound as bitter as he does, but Felix sets loose the truth he knows neither of them is a stranger to. With a sigh, he buries his face in the cradle between Dimitri’s neck and shoulder, arms tightening around his back.

 _“Felix, I—”_ Dimitri stutters because there really is nothing worth saying, nothing that will alleviate the suffering off so many years. _“You have always been kind to me, Felix.”_

Except he hasn’t. That is the furthest thing from the truth, and what exasperates Felix the most is not Dimitri’s saying of it, but that that is precisely what he believes to be the truth. 

_“We could have both been kinder.”_ Felix surrenders too much of himself in just one night, but the way Dimitri seems to lighten in his hold warrants his sacrifice and every other one that is to come. 

_“Perhaps, it is not too late for us to start now.”_

Dimitri echoes Felix’s earlier thoughts, and something in his tone, the soft hopefulness of it all, the way it surges a wave of heat in both of their bodies, _something_ makes Felix believe him more readily than he would believe himself. 

A few heartbeats later, Dimitri turns and Felix can hear the creak of the door. He watches it close, leaving them alone in the comfort of the darkness. The light of the moon, alone, filters through the windows, slipping past the small crack between the curtains, silver-washing the flooring, the walls and all the delicate filigree, in an ephemeral glow that shimmers and sparkles. 

Dimitri releases him, and Felix lands back down with muted footsteps. His arms are firm around Dimitri’s neck until he is sure that what he feels beneath his feet is, without a doubt, the floor. Only then does he consider loosening his hold on Dimitri, and only so he can put his hands to better use. 

Felix hooks his fingers on the inside of Dimitri’s collar, tugging him down, considerate yet also unyielding. His other hand reaches for his cheek, reeling him with each step, closer and closer each time, until Dimitri is breathing harshly against his face, pleading silently for freedoms Felix has to convince himself are worth waiting for. 

Fortunately, the trek to the bed is a short one, even with Dimitri’s hands wandering his body one curvature at a time, one rib, one hip, and then back up. There is rhyme and reason to the way he moves, plotting out Felix’s body point by point, lingering on every scene worth revisiting at a later date. In his hold, Felix runs out of breath, rasping for air when his face starts burning red, and all he can do is reach further for Dimitri’s exhalations. 

But he is not the only desperate one.

The image of Felix flushed, eyes half-closed, laden with a need to be touched, held, kissed, is like looking in a mirror and being stared down by the love of your life. Dimitri softens visibly, breathing evening out and deepening. He is clear-minded and more lucid than he’s ever been, and it is with an open eye that Dimitri makes the most senseless decision of his life.

His teeth sink into Felix’s lower lip like the kiss of a freshly sharpened knife, carving confessions into his open mouth. Shakily, his hands come up to keep him steady, not that Felix would have run away, but Dimitri is scared. He is taking bets and staking all his worth on this one night, knowing fully well that come tomorrow, nothing will be the same, and when Felix does not push him away, he presses forward. 

Felix’s legs hit the footboard of the bed, and, bracing himself against it, he responds in kind, pushing back with all his might. He tugs himself free, swiping his own teeth over Dimitri’s lip and sucking it where he can knead the flesh into a bruise, and his eyes flash open when he feels the taste of iron. 

With it, they break apart. 

The steady trickle of blood dripping to the floor beats a rhythm into his heart, reminds Felix of something else entirely. An old thrill of past adrenaline rushes to his head. Sure, his ears won't stop ringing with the sound of silence drilling holes into his scalp, but he can work with that. 

_Drip, drip, drop_ , his chest flutters back alive with the force of a kaleidoscope of butterflies striking their wings against his skin, making it tingle.

Meanwhile, Dimitri's hands cascade over him, breaking onto the surface of his body in a wave of touches that sweeps over him and tugs his head below the surface to where a pair of lips can remind him how to breathe. Fingertips press into the dips between flesh and bone, pushing Felix down into the mattress, while fingernails scrape the skin red, digging crescents into it, and his hips rise into Dimitri’s grasp, betraying Felix’s every thought, his every little need to feel Dimitri swallow him whole. 

_“Breathtaking.”_ There is the hitch of his voice when Dimitri breathes in, and then he is speaking into his neck, kissing the rounded corners of his collarbones as they press against his skin. _“Felix, you are beautiful. You are beautiful and all I want is for you to be mine.”_

And Felix goes quiet, swallowing back his heart when it jumps into his throat and pricks at his tongue. Dimitri has no right turning his dreams into reality, saying such sweet nothings to Felix, who has always turned his nose up at love, to Felix, who is quickly learning what words he has waited all his life to hear.

Above him, Dimitri’s face twinkles where the moon hits it at just the right angle, shadows melting, features setting in as though carved in stone. And he has no business calling Felix breathtaking when here he is, so irresistibly handsome.

With that thought in mind, Felix worries the wound on his lip, scraping the sharp points of his canines over it, and then he makes up his mind. For all that it is worth (everything), Dimitri is still pliable in his hands, so Felix takes advantage of how caught up he’s been all this time, shoving him off of his body and under, where Felix can straddle him.

 _“I’m not waiting for you any longer.”_ His hands are frantic on the inside of his own shirt, clutching fabric, popping buttons in a whirlwind that’s too desperate for Felix’s usual demeanour. Finally, it falls open around him, framing his body in immaculate silk, and then he’s peeling it off for good, casting it to the foot of the bed like an inconvenience. When he moves on to Dimitri’s tunic, his fingers weave themselves into the gold-threaded embroidery, and they move with the same underlying frenzy. _“You’ve had all the time in the world, Dimitri, and I’m here to collect.”_

The shirt below he rolls upwards, and as Dimitri pops his head through the neckhole, he catches Felix’s lips with his own, kissing him tenderly.

_“I will not leave you on your own again. To you, I swear it, Felix.”_

It isn’t that his words mean nothing—they do, they weigh heavy with too much meaning—just that, for some things, it is simply too late. 

In response, Felix kisses him harder, faster, with the weight of an answer he struggles to convey otherwise. They kiss, and Dimitri cannot help catching lightning with his teeth. Felix's tongue is so vulnerable inside his mouth, and, so, he takes it upon himself to goad it further over his own muscle, letting its tip trace the dulcetries Felix cannot find it within him to voice into the roof of Dimitri's mouth. 

What he needs most, right then, right there, is to feel every part of Dimitri he’s ever missed on. 

Felix’s hand slips inside his breeches, past the waistband, and he is feeling Dimitri through the fabric, gauging the size of his dick blindly. Surprisingly, and less so to anybody else but Felix, the feel of it, firm flesh throbbing, veins branching off onto the surface of it, every aspect of it excites him in ways he has never made the acquaintance of. His fingers snap quickly, taking care of the other half of Dimitri’s clothes until all that is left is the fabric of his underwear, tenting where his cock begs for freedom.

His fingertips drag out its length with each stroke of his hand, helping him grow rigid beneath his touch. Dimitri is a mess when all he can do is to groan lowly, thrusting uselessly into Felix’s hand in an attempt to simulate something a little more than just a handjob. 

_“Please, Felix.”_ He throws his head back against the pillow with a deep moan, one that heads straight for Felix’s own cock. The sounds he makes taste so sweet. Too bad not even that is enough to coax mercy out of Felix. 

_“Sit still and be quiet.”_ The words sound like the snap of a whip against Dimitri’s skin, but Felix is anything but unkind. Following his own advice, he goes silent, reciting a short spell in his thoughts until his fingertips spark white, and Dimitri’s eye thunders open. If he's ever doubted learning magic, Felix is definitely a man of faith at this moment.

 _“Oh.”_

His grin is delightfully poisonous, infectious even, as he works Dimitri up to a full erection with lightning tipped fingers. His hand wraps around the length of Dimitri’s cock, stroking him in a slow and steady rhythm of pumps, and where the pads of Felix’s digits press to his skin, there is the release of a small surge of electricity. A pulse strong enough to be felt, weak enough to leave him wanting more. The sensation is akin to being pricked by a mass of small needles before it dulls out to a low pulsation, a thrum of his skin that dawdles long after Felix has moved on. But what is indisputably the best part of the process is that Dimitri cannot control himself. His cock twitches, jerking forward with each new shock, and it is out of his hands. Literally. 

_“A-Ah, Felix!”_ Dimitri throws his head back in an arc, spine lifting off the mattress as his sunkissed tresses fan out on the surface of the pillow. He gasps, sound breaking off against the shores of his pleasure in a stream of smaller, choppy moans, one sound clambering over another before he can get the chance to finish the first. 

His dick twitches in Felix's hands, thick veins running up and down, splitting off at junctures to make way for other, newer ones, and Felix is enticed by the sight of his King, his hopefully-soon-to-be-lover, a massive man crumbling beneath him like clay in water. But before he can lose all consistency, Felix takes it upon himself to mould him into a true work of art.

The hold he has on him loosens entirely, and before Dimitri can protest, just in time for him to prop himself up on his elbows, Felix is kneeling between his legs, knees folded beneath the weight of the rest of his body, mouth hovering dangerously close to that place where Dimitri starts to slowly break. He eyes Dimitri once, twice, signals him to keep his more outspoken thoughts to himself, and then Felix is dipping down. As his face lowers itself, his ass rises to offset the shift in balance, and Dimitri’s eye flashes open briefly when he watches the pendulum swing of Felix’s hips. On instinct, alone, he pushes himself upright and reaches to squeeze Felix’s ass, earning him a stern glare.

Yet not before long, his lips open around the head of Dimitri’s cock, and he lowers it onto the palate of his tongue, wrapping his mouth closed around it and lowering himself all the way down. Under him, Dimitri shudders, trembles, mutters a senseless word beneath his breath. His grip on Felix’s flesh tightens and then they’re both edging each other on with every sound they make, every gasp Dimitri lets loose upon Felix, every moan Felix sings into the skin of his cock.

And it is a beautiful serenade they write together when Dimitri brings his hands together in a prayer over Felix’s cheeks, cradling them in his palms ever-so-carefully, in case it might break him, to be loved so sweetly. Each time Felix casts his eyes away, trying and failing at hiding the now-permanent flush of his face, Dimitri reels his gaze back in with featherlight touches. 

Not unlike on the outside, Dimitri’s cock is so very large inside his mouth, and the more work he puts into sucking it, the larger it seems to swell, urging Felix to open wider, swallow harder, hold on tighter. What he cannot fit inside his mouth he leaves in the care of his free hand, which encloses around the base of his cock. 

It is an all hands on deck sort of situation, with Felix surrounding Dimitri from every angle, compelling him to surrender mind, heart, but, mostly, body. 

Eventually, he does, except Felix will not allow it.

White surges inside Dimitri, hot and steaming, but before it can come out spilling, Felix is off of him, wiping the precum dribbling down his chin, saliva, and everything else. 

_“Do you have anything to help prepare me?”_ Felix is curt, straight-faced when he asks the obvious, except Dimitri hasn’t been let in on the secret.

 _“Help prepare you?”_ He cocks his head to the side in thought before realization lights up his face and he’s caught red-cheeked and still blushing. _“Yes, yes. I do.”_

Thankful, but nonetheless surprised, Felix watches him reach under one of the many pillows lining the headboard to pull out a small glass bottle, a ribbon tied neatly around its neck. When he turns it in to Felix’s waiting hands, Dimitri cannot help but notice the fixed stare waiting for him, and, stuttering, he scrambles for an explanation.

 _“It was a gift! From a dear friend!”_ An explanation, yes, but by no means a satisfactory one. Felix’s eyes only seem to grow sharper at that. _“Felix, by my honour, there is not one need to worry yourself. You have and always will remain the only one for me.”_

And maybe it’s that the answer still does not satisfy the question, or maybe that Dimitri is so faultlessly honest, but Felix cannot handle it. His hands come up to clamp down on his mouth, hushing him.

 _“Shut up.”_ But the damage has been done, and it only worsens when he can feel the imprint of a kiss and a smile against his skin, Dimitri’s eye crinkling upwards. Then, a thought occurs to him, on a whim of generosity. _“Do you want to…?”_

Dimitri, of course, does not expect such kindness. His iris sparkles and gleams, shining brightly with childlike glee, so much so that Felix both regrets and is thankful for having asked. 

The bottle returns to Dimitri’s hands, and while he slicks his fingers, Felix rids himself of his other clothes. He sits himself upright, on his knees, inching closer to Dimitri, who, distracted, pours so much oil that it spills out of his hand. It can hardly be helped, when Felix is breathing upon his face, toned stomach, firm thighs, hard cock all bared and in plain sight. 

_“What? It’s like you’ve never seen someone naked before.”_ And it’s a sight in and of itself the way Dimitri instantly avoids his gaze, turning the brightest shade of crimson. 

_“That would be because I have not…seen anybody else naked before. Especially not”_ , there, his face takes a turn Felix has never seen it take before, nose scrunching up, eyebrows tugging close in thought, _“the man I have loved all of my life.”_

Unexpected is all that can be said about Dimitri’s words, and, now, Felix is just as red, just as nervous. 

_“I haven’t either. So, we’re even, alright?”_ He blurts out a little too quickly for his own liking. _“Get to it already, will you?”_ Yet, even while looking away, Felix does not miss the way Dimitri’s face softens and relaxes at having his feelings returned, at hearing this is new for him, too, that there has been nobody else in his life, even after all these years. 

Delighted, he reaches behind Felix with a renewed fervour, and, pulling him closer with an arm, Dimitri reaches to part his asscheeks, index finger teasing out his entrance. In turn, Felix braces himself against his shoulders, but the feeling of his cold, wet finger draws a deep sigh from his mouth, one that has him pushing back against Dimitri until he is suddenly inside him. 

Curling his digit along the surface of the muscle, Dimitri loosens him up, rubbing at his insides incessantly until Felix’s body submits to his touch. One finger, two, then three. Felix takes all of it, slowly getting accustomed to the feeling of being filled up. He knows it will be nothing like taking Dimitri’s cock, but there is _some_ reassurance to be had in easing himself into it, and, as it stands, it feels good. He can tell Dimitri isn’t exactly experienced, and maybe he’s just that desperate, but it feels so good. Lost in the sensation as he is, Felix misses Dimitri ducking his head into the crook of his neck. However, the feeling of his lips upon his skin is distinct, unmistakable, and he recognizes it instantly. _Love._

_“That’s enough.”_ And he’s lying, because the truth is that he wants more. 

Felix pulls himself off of Dimitri’s fingers only to grab a hold of his cock, sloppily smearing the oil from his own skin onto it before positioning himself over it and sliding down in one, slow movement. 

Quickly enough, he realizes that he had been right in every respect. Dimitri fills him up before he can reach the hilt of his cock, but Felix pushes on, moving right away to try and coax more of him inside. He glides freely up and down the length of it, his hands planted firmly on Dimitri’s chest, who is too choked up to say much of anything. He breaks all over again, moaning and groaning to the pace set by Felix, which soon proves to be too slow. At that, his hands come up to dig into the inside of his thighs, Felix gasping sharply, and then Dimitri is guiding him up and down his cock, fucking himself into him. 

_“Is this alright with you?”_ To which Felix nods fervently, not finding it possible to speak in any way, shape, or form, not when Dimitri’s cock is hitting him deeper than he ever thought possible. He entrusts himself into Dimitri’s capable hands, choosing instead to find refuge on his lips, inside his mouth, where Felix kisses him long and heavily. There, he hides his emotions uselessly, knowing they will reach Dimitri, that, just that much, he will be able to taste. 

They kiss and it’s everything the two of them have ever hoped for.

Felix grows tighter, Dimitri hastens his thrusts, and soon enough, they are coming together, unannounced. 

Their bodies fall against each other, exhausted but content, and Dimitri eventually lays the both of them back, leaving Felix to rest against his chest. They are quiet, not because they have run out of things worth saying, but because words have become useless, now that they have gotten this far. 

Dimitri runs his hands through Felix’s long tresses, combing the waves out of them. He relishes the smoothness of it, the scent of pine emanating out of his skin. His chin settles upon Felix’s head, while his arms encircle him, holding him as close as they will go. 

Beneath him, Felix breathes. First of all, he focuses on gaining his breath back, that which Dimitri has so crudely fucked out of him, though he won’t complain. Maybe later, but not right now. He gets carried away by a great surge of thoughts, questions about their future, the future of Faerghus, House Fraldarius, and the rest of Fódlan, all of which he has no answer to. No answer, except the steady beating of Dimitri’s heart against his ear. 

That much is enough. 

_“Will you stay, Felix? I could find you a spare bedroom in the castle, and I am sure we could find someone to take care of your territory during your stay here. Of course, you will also have all the necessary time to work remotely.”_ Dimitri’s rambling is sudden, and Felix can instantly tell how worried he is, that this is his way of pleading. _“Only if you would like to.”_

He shouldn’t feel as irritated by that as he does, but Felix has never kept a tight leash on his feelings.

 _“How can you ask something like that?”_ It is a sudden thing when he sits up, breaking Dimitri’s hold on him like it was nothing. He isn’t shouting, but he isn’t far from it either, tone serrated and forbidding when he snaps. _“After everything…after everything…you’re still doubting me? Is that it?”_

 _“Not at all.”_ Dimitri is just as suddenly next to him, pulling his face back into his hold, needing to hold him as close as possible or not at all. _“It is because of everything you have done for me that I do not wish to have you sacrifice anything else.”_

His reply seems to placate Felix, at least for the time being. He still has much to learn, as does Dimitri, in handling their emotions, in working with each other, and there is no better place to start than here.

 _“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”_ It is hard, but Felix wants to try, for both their sakes. _“We’re both here now, and that’s all that matters, okay?”_

It takes him a few moments to process Felix’s words, but when he does, Dimitri is wide-eyed and grinning like a fool. He pulls him back against his chest in a tight embrace, bodies falling back against the mattress, and though Felix wants to protest, he chooses not to. This, too, is the Dimitri he loves. 

They cuddle closely, and after settling down together, a thought occurs to Felix. 

_“It’s not like I care, but”,_ and he pauses, fully conscious that it sounds _precisely_ like he cares, _“who is that friend of yours anyway?”_

 _“Hm?”_ Dimitri hums, still caught up in the afterglow of the moon.

_“Your friend? Who felt it proper to gift you lubricant?”_

_“Oh. That…”_ Laughing nervously, he ponders the words in his mouth.

Somewhere inside the castle, Byleth sneezes.

_“It was a gift from our dear Professor.”_

And suddenly, everything and nothing makes sense.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Dimilix Exchange!
> 
> Thank you so so much for the lovely prompts, Angie. I saw the electric kink one and not only am I a changed man, but I have not been able to stop thinking about it. Hopefully, I was able to do your prompts justice, and you will enjoy this little gift ;w;


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